


Pushover

by DoctorCannoli



Category: Hannibal (TV), Hannibal Lecter Series - All Media Types, Hannibal Lecter Tetralogy - Thomas Harris
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Handcuffs, PWP, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2017-07-22
Packaged: 2018-12-05 13:12:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,196
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11578773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DoctorCannoli/pseuds/DoctorCannoli
Summary: If she’d learned one thing in her life, it was how to stand up for herself and get what she wanted. She had learned those skills early on – first as a child in West Virginia, then as a teenager in Montana, and as a woman in the male-dominated world of the FBI. She had learned time and time again how to square her shoulders, set her jaw, and not give up until she got the very thing she was after.She had no problem getting what she wanted, but for once, she just wasn’t sure how to get it.





	Pushover

Clarice Starling was not a pushover.

If she’d learned one thing in her life, it was how to stand up for herself and get what she wanted. She had learned those skills early on – first as a child in West Virginia, then as a teenager in Montana, and as a woman in the male-dominated world of the FBI. She had learned time and time again how to square her shoulders, set her jaw, and not give up until she got the very thing she was after.

She had no problem getting what she wanted, but for once, she just wasn’t sure how to get it.

==

Clarice padded softly through the house, nearing the sunroom, as she knew know Hannibal often retired there in the early evenings, well before dinner. He liked to watch the sun as it set, casting the world in a unearthly glow and setting it aflame before disappearing into shadow. She crept up to the room and leaned on the doorway a few moments, watching Hannibal while he read. The sun played over his features, highlighting them with light and shadow, and catching in his graying hair. 

She thought him beautiful and fascinating, just as she always had, even in those early days when Jack had first sent her to speak with him. Even then, she had felt something towards him – intrigue, mostly, but also the desire to know and understand him for the dangerous, beautiful predator that he was. She had since given that up – the desire to understand him. There was no understanding Hannibal Lecter; there was only accepting. There still was not a word to describe what he was, only the revelation that he was exactly as he should be. 

He was magnificent.

Hannibal shifted in his chair, crossing his legs. Clarice smiled. She knew better than to assume that he hadn’t noticed her presence. He’d probably sensed her walking down the hall, long before she’d entered the room. She cleared her throat, on principle, and took a few steps into the room. 

“What’cha doing?”

“What does it look like I am doing?” he replied without looking up, his eyes still dancing over the words on the page before him. 

“Am I bothering you?” she asked.

He put down his book, some dusty old German novel, and looked up at her. “Never, Clarice. I’ve spent years surrounded by bothersome people. You should know by now that if I choose to keep company with you, I do not find you bothersome in the least.”

She hummed in response, a smile on her face. Leave it to Hannibal to be obvious and maddening and yet complimentary all in the same breath. He met her eyes, but declined to speak, merely held his hand out to her. She took it, stepping close to him, but held herself at a distance, somewhat, shifting her weight from foot to foot. She wasn’t quite sure how to go about this business of… seducing him. 

Their relationship was still quite new and, until this point, she hadn’t sought him out specifically with the intent of getting him into her bed. Sometimes – oftentimes – it happened without a conscious thought. As they were cooking or perhaps after dinner when they were enjoying one another’s company, sex between them happened naturally. It seemed to flow, be part of their natures. As of yet, she had not needed to seek him out for sex, and to do so without any sort of prompting seemed, well... rude.

Hannibal stroked his thumb over her skin, glancing up at her with a curious look in his eyes. She was sure by now that he had sensed her hesitancy, even if he was not sure what was causing it. He kissed the back of her hand gently, in reassurance. “If you want something, Clarice, then all you need do is ask.”

There it was – the opening she needed. Clarice shifted a bit until she was standing directly in front of him. She leaned in then, bending at the waist and bracing her hands on the arms of his chair. He held her gaze until it became impossible to, as her face became too close and her cheek grazed his, his skin smooth except for a slight rasp of stubble that had grown in during the day. 

“I want you to let me fuck you,” she whispered in his ear, feeling a thrill of power at being able to say those words to his man. 

Though he was did not have many outward tells, she could detect a tensing in his muscles, a slightly sharper inhale that signaled to her that she was succeeding in arousing him. She pulled back then, withdrawing just enough to see what his next move would be. He stood gracefully, towering in front of her as elegant as ever, before taking her hand. 

“As you wish,” he rumbled, his voice deep and tinged with want. Her own body leapt at the sound of it, a fluttering beginning deep in her belly. Impulsively, she tugged on his hand, pulling him to his feet, and led him towards the room where she slept. Though they spent their nights in the same bed, each of them had kept separate rooms – a space to retreat to, if necessary. They always ended up together, either in his bed or hers, but it was a thrill to lead him into the space that was all her own, knowing what they were going to do there. 

Standing in front of the bed, she finally turned to him, looking up at him. Sometimes, she forgot how tall he was, how imposing his sheer presence was. She had never been particularly afraid of him, not even during all those years she had spent hunting him at the FBI. She had feared what he was capable of, of his intellect and resources and cunning, but she was never afraid to be alone with him. 

Perhaps she should have been. 

But then, she wouldn’t be here now, tugging Hannibal Lecter’s dress shirt from his slacks, slipping her hands beneath it to touch his skin, always so surprisingly warm. He watched her silently as she began to unbutton his shirt, one button at a time. She breathed softly through her nose, hoping he hadn’t yet realized how aroused she was, but knowing that there was no way he hadn’t noticed. He’d told her once that he hadn’t been able to smell her cunt, but she knew now that had been a powerful lie. If he’d been able to detect the scent of her then, he most certainly could now. 

With the last button undone, she slipped the fabric from his shoulders, dropping it on the floor. He frowned disapprovingly at her careless treatment of his clothing, but she kissed it from his lips, trailing kisses from his neck to chest. She gave him a little shove and he went willingly to the bed, sitting on the edge of it. Hannibal would never, ever flop on a mattress. 

She knelt at his feet and began untying the square knots of his laces, picking them apart before sliding one shoe, then the other off of his feet, following with his dark dress socks. She set them aside and rose on her knees, trailing her hands up the backs of his calves before bringing them around to caress his kneecaps. He watched her with some amusement, no doubt taking pleasure in the situation, but also in how she was enjoying herself. She met his gaze and slowly dragged her fingers up the muscles in his thighs, feeling the strength and power that rested just below his skin. When she reached his waistband, she hooked her fingers in his belt loops and tugged, bringing him to his feet once more.

Still on her knees, she worked the button, then the zipper, drawing it down slowly before easing the slacks over his hips and thighs. He looked down on her with dark eyes, and there was no masking the obvious sign of his arousal. With a smirk, she cupped him through his boxers, stroking his cock through the silk. A faint shudder rippled through his body and his face grew softer, his mouth softening around the edges as she worked her hand over him, stopping only long enough to slip the fabric down his legs in order to gain better access and touch his skin. He inhaled through his nose as she set up a rhythm, running her thumb over his tip, pleased to feel wetness collecting there.

“Enjoying yourself?” she asked.

“Are you?” he responded, a slight hitch to his voice. “I fail to see how this is mutually beneficial, at this point.”

“Trust me,” she grinned darkly, running her eyes over his naked form. He truly was beautiful. “I’m benefiting plenty.”

“I am sure there is more I could be doing for you, though,” he said, taking her by the wrist, stilling her hand. He fixed her with lust-darkened eyes and brought her to her feet, his hands skimming around her waist, grasping the hem of her shirt. 

“Ah,” she chided, taking his hands and pulling them away from her body. “Let me. Watch.”

Amused, he raised an eyebrow and did as she requested, letting his hands fall back to the bed and fixing his eyes on her. It was unlike her to be so demanding, but something about this encounter – seeking him out, leading him to bed – was making her bold. She met his eyes and, in one smooth movement, pulled her shirt over her head, dropping it to the floor next to his. Her bra was the next to go, as she reached behind her and unhooked it, slipping the straps off her arms and letting it fall away. Though his face betrayed no emotion, his eyes flicked to her breasts, lingering a few moments before flitting back to her face. 

Though he was unlike any other she’d ever known, he was still a man.

She made a bit more of a show with her trousers, rolling her hips as she pulled them down her legs before pushing them to the floor. Hannibal didn’t require any sort of theatricality with her, but it felt right, in this instance, to play it up a bit. She hesitated only briefly before slipping her panties off. Of the two of them, Hannibal was much more comfortable with nudity and, while she was not ashamed of her body, she was still not used to another’s eyes having such free reign over her frame. From the beginning, he had been considerate of her, always, and remained quick to reassure her with his words and eyes and hands. She knew he found her beautiful, and his opinion of her – if nothing else – bolstered her confidence like nothing else could.

With his eyes on her still, she climbed onto the bed with him, crawling up over top of him until she straddled him, her thighs on either side of his hips. She leaned down and kissed him, threading a hand through his hair and slipping her tongue into his mouth. He seemed content to allow her to lead, dancing his tongue against hers, but never entering into her mouth. She felt him hard against her stomach and rocked her hips against him, setting a haphazard rhythm. His hands smoothed over her back, fingers tracing her spine gently, undemanding. She shuddered with the sensation and the power she felt. When, at last, she drew her mouth away from him to catch her breath, he looked up at her with eyes dark and intense.

“Is this how you want me?” he graveled, gesturing. “On my back, completely at your power?”

“Close,” she responded, shifting above him and slipping a hand between them to align their bodies. “I want you like this…” 

Grasping his cock, she trailed off as she lowered herself onto him, taking him into her body. Even over her own gasp, she could hear him as he sucked in a breath at the feel of her. Clarice watched with pride as his eyes slipped shut: she never would get over the feeling of absolute power that she felt in these moments, the power that he allowed her.

She rode him slowly at first, rising and falling, slipping him in and out of her body, watching his face as he stared at her with equal parts lust and disbelief in his eyes, as if somehow disbelieving that she was here and real and fucking him. His hands caressed her thighs, his long fingers playing over her pale skin, feeling the muscles tensing with her effort. She shifted a bit, supporting herself with her hands on his chest, and rotating her hips until his cock hit the place inside her that made her thighs tremble and her breath escape in a moan.

She moved faster, driving relentlessly against him now that she knew she would to make herself come, knowing he would follow her. Hannibal’s fingers bit into her hips, a sharp reminder of his presence. Acting on instinct, she pried his fingers off of her body and moved swiftly to pin his arms by the side of his head, leaning in and holding him down by his wrists. She had started this in a position of dominance, and she would end it as such. She always finished what she started.

“Clarice…” he growled, his eyes meeting hers. His pupils were dilated, huge black holes that could swallow her whole, threatening a danger she hadn’t seen in them before. 

Looking up at her through the hair that had fallen in his eyes, he looked powerful and dangerous. She was pleased, so fucking pleased that she could say she had done this to him. She drove her body faster, rolling her hips and riding him without shame or reservation. He had to be close – she was getting impossibly close herself. 

“Clarice,” he repeated. “I… I need you…”

“Yes. Fuck yes,” she replied, nodding, panting.

He shook his head. “No… I… I need you to help me… Cuff me.”

“What?” she gasped, her hips stuttering in their rhythm, wondering if she had heard him correctly.

“The handcuffs,” he repeated. “Yours, in the nightstand. Put them on me.”

Handcuffs? She wanted to laugh. This was so good – almost over – and he wanted her to get out the handcuffs now? “Can’t… I’m so close…”

“No,” he insisted, his voice harsher and more direct than she had heard it in a long time. “You need to do this for me.”

Her movements had slowed while he’d been speaking and now, determined to finish, she sped back up, shaking her head back at him. “Hannibal, I…”

He moved without warning, pushing her onto her back and pinning her, pressing her into the mattress with his weight. Her eyes widened, not so much in fear as surprise, and she squirmed beneath him, adjusting to their new position and the angle of his cock inside of her. 

"Stop," he growled, one of his large hands enclosing her neck. Clarice froze, every muscle in her body suddenly tense. With the curve between his thumb and forefinger pressed up against her throat, he could crush her hyoid bone is a second. He wouldn't, but the knowledge that he could was both frightening and arousing. He didn't say a word, just stared down at her with a lust she hadn't quite seen before. His hips twitched, his whole body taut with the desire to rut into her and satisfy himself, but he did not move. 

She wasn’t sure what he needed, or how to give it to him, but she wanted to act, nonetheless. Part of her wanted to reach out to him, to comfort him and yet another darker part of herself wanted to spur him into action, into fucking her as wildly as possible. In the end, she did neither, simply watching him and waiting. Even though her brain was cloudy with sex, she still recognized that something was happening here, something Hannibal was trying hard to control. 

Without breaking eye contact with her, took a deep, shuddering breath before leaning off to the side of the bed. He yanked open a drawer and fished around in the contents of her nightstand. In the span of a few moments, he had found his prize and was rolling them again, taking her with him, and pulling her into place atop him once more. 

"Here," he graveled, all but tossing the cuffs at her. 

"You weren't kidding," she realized, taking the cool metal in her hands. 

"Never. Not about something as serious as this. Please, Clarice," he asked, closing his eyes and swallowing, once. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You wouldn't hurt..."

Her words were cut off as he grabbed her chin, suddenly rising up to kiss her roughly. His lips were bruising and his teeth bit into her lower lip, the pressure coming just shy of drawing blood. When he pulled away, she gasped, dazed. 

"I might, my little bird," he whispered against her cheek, his hand slipping back to tangle in her hair and tug. She winced, trusting him yet. He kissed a trail from her cheek to her jaw to the side of her neck. "You have no idea what you do to me, my darling. At times, I want nothing more than to destroy you," he confessed, his teeth closing over where her pulse beat just beneath the skin. He sharply sucked the skin into his mouth, causing a whimper to tear from Clarice's throat. He released her entirely then, falling away from her and leaning back. "I could never live with myself if I harmed you. So please. Please..."

Clarice swallowed and nodded. He never asked for anything in the bedroom; this was the least she could do. "Put your, uh... Raise your arms for me. So I can..."

He complied with her fumbling request, raising his arms above his head. Taking a steadying breath, Clarice leaned forward and snapped the first cuff around his right wrist. She could feel his heartbeat racing as it hammered against her chest. "Not too tight?"

"Perfect," he murmured absently, transfixed as he was by her breasts, which were now much closer to his face. Clarice rolled her eyes.  
"See anything you like?" She teased, pinching the skin at his wrist as she cuffed his other hand, securing him to the headboard. In response, he lunged up to take her breast in his mouth, but she pulled back out of his reach. He growled and glared at her.

"Ah! You asked for this," she admonished. 

"Only so I don't wring your pretty little neck," he said darkly, arousing her far more than should be allowed. The sight of him cuffed to her bed was a sight to behold in and of itself, but coupled with his lust-fueled threats, she was lost to him. 

"Why'd you ever want to do something like that?" she questioned, rising up on all fours above him. He'd slipped out of her a bit when she'd risen on her knees to cuff him, but now that he was free of her body completely, they both winced at the loss. 

"What are you doing, you minx?" 

"Hmm, I thought I was your little bird?" she mused, peppering kisses over his chest and down his abdomen. 

"You're a tease," he managed, looking down at her. 

"Honestly, Hannibal, did you think that once I cuffed you I was really just going to let this opportunity go?" She grinned. "It's not often I get the upper hand."

“I thought you wanted to… fuck…” 

His words disappeared as she took his cock into her mouth, taking as much of him in as she could. Though she didn’t often use her mouth on him, she had quickly learned what he liked, when and where to use her tongue and teeth and hands to drive him to madness. Hannibal groaned and she could hear the metallic shake of the cuffs as he tugged against them, straining his hands to be able to touch her. She placed one hand on his hip, urging him still as she bobbed her head on him and sucked, hollowing her cheeks. He muttered something unintelligible, or perhaps just in his mother tongue, and she took it as a point of pride. She flicked her tongue over the ridge on the head of his cock and used her tongue to trace the length of him before grazing it over his sensitive tip once more.

“Clarice,” he spoke her name, a warning. Hannibal Lecter had never begged anyone for anything, not in nearly forty years, and she knew he wasn’t about to start now. Releasing him, she crawled back up his body, keeping eye contact as much as she could. She reached up and brushed the hair from his eyes and he leaned into her touch, murmuring her name.

“What do you want?” she asked him.

“You, my dear,” he responded smoothly, far too articulate for a man who had been on the edge of orgasm just moments ago.

Kissing him deeply, making sure he could taste himself on her tongue, she took him in hand and lowered herself onto him once more, circling her hips slowly at first, then picking up speed. After the first few moments, she knew wasn't going to last long for either of them, but she also knew that he was far closer than she was. Hannibal could sense it too and helped as he could, thrusting up into her, creating a delicious friction. 

"Touch yourself," he commanded, and she obeyed without question, her fingers slipping down to her clit. Clarice swore, her hips moving faster and faster. Though she was supposed to be the one controlling him, she found herself slipping, letting him fill all of her, her body, her mind, her senses. 

"That's it," he whispered darkly to her, his voice strained. "Come, Clarice. Come with me. Come for me."

"Not until I make you come first," she countered, pressing her fingers harder against the place they were joined, brushing them against his cock as she pleasured herself. 

With only a few strokes of her hand, he came with a groan, his head thrown back, exposing his neck, making himself vulnerable. Clarice followed, finding her release and burying her face in his neck, muffling her moans against his skin. Sated, she fell bonelessly against him, her body rising and falling with each of his breaths. 

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, grounding herself once more. It had never been easy for her to lose herself during sex, but with Hannibal, she had been surprised to find it was shockingly easy to let go, knowing that he accepted her, he had seen all of her - the good and the bad - and loved her for it. 

She may have drifted off for a few moments, for the next thing she took notice of was Hannibal pressing soft kisses to her forehead. She groaned and stretched as best she could, knowing she should move off of him, but not really wanting to just yet. His hands stroked softly across her back, as if enticing her to stay and...

"Hey!" Clarice bolted upright, smacking him on the chest. Hannibal's hands fell away from her and he smirked at her. "The fuck happened to the cuffs?"

"Language, Clarice."

"No, really," she said, grabbing the discarded handcuffs from where they lay beside him. "How the hell did you get these off?"

"It doesn't matter..."

"It sure as hell does," she insisted. "I put these on you myself. I knew they were secure." She fiddled with them for several moments before looking up and meeting his gaze. "Okay. Tell me, then – if you were able to get out of them that easily, what was the point of putting them on?"

"I already told you.”

"No, you didn't. When....? Wait." The realization dawned on her. “You were really afraid of hurting me?”

He was silent for longer than she liked. 

“Sometimes,” he finally answered, “the pleasure of being with you becomes too great and my brain starts running on instinct. Sometimes – and only those times – am I afraid of hurting you.”

“Hannibal… Hannibal, look at me,” Clarice waited to continue until he met her steely blue gaze. “If you ever, ever try to hurt me in earnest… I will kick your fancy Lithuanian ass.”

He laughed aloud at this, short sharp barks of laughter that were thoroughly uncharacteristic for him. “I have no doubt that you would. You are a wonder, my Clarice.”

“You’d better believe it,” she mumbled, finally crawling off of him to curl up at his side. His arm came around her as she settled with her head on his chest, her ear resting just above his heart, and her arm slung over his waist. “I do love you, you know. In spite of all that.”

“I know,” he replied. He didn’t say it back, but she knew better than to question what he felt for her. His actions spoke louder than words.

It was exactly what she wanted.


End file.
